


Reward Earned

by iniquiticity



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blowjobs, Kink Meme, M/M, Plot? What Plot?, Public Sex, Rookie obeisance, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From thesinbin kink meme: "After winning a fight - Player A is blown/fucked/gets to fuck Player B in the locker room after the game. Everyone gets to watch." </p><p>Kink meme porn. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reward Earned

They won, and then Doughty charges at him, and boy was he _thrilled_ to see that, because nothing feels better than the sensation of his relatively delicate hand bones smashing into Doughty’s cheekbone with as much force as he can muster. 

The shithead doesn’t go down, for some reason. Instead, he grabs hold of Joe’s collar with one hand, and the other crunches against Joe’s helmet. It makes his ears ring, but it’s not enough to shake him from his target. Teeth gritted to keep focus, he reaches out and yanks Doughty’s visored helmet off of him. The second punch scatters Joe’s thoughts and shoots pain through his mouth, but it’s hardly enough for him to forget his next goal. 

This time he hears a sickening crunch as Doughty’s nose folds under his fist. There’s blood, and more of it when he delivers a third devastating blow. The man crumbles. 

Striped arms reach around him and pull him away. His vision is hazy with red, a little blurred out at the borders. When he looks down, he spots a good little puddle of blood and a trainer on either side of Drew, one holding a towel to his face. 

Joe spits blood and hears a little sound, like a tooth on the ice. 

“‘Easy, Joe,” Pavs is saying into his ear, which pulls him a little closer back to reality. “Game over. Back to the locker room.”

He wonders why he doesn’t fight more often because somehow he always feels so fucking good after. Everything thrums, heart pounding, face throbbing. He can feel the warm trickle of blood sliding down the back of his throat, can see the splatter of it on his jersey. It’s surprisingly comforting trickling down his nose, and he wipes it away with a glove and is surprised by the bright color against the white of his glove.  
 And then there’s the cheer of the fans, even as he walks away from them, even in the tunnel. The screams pulse in his ears, the cheers like a symphony. 

His skin is humming and everything seems so distant, even in the locker room. 

“Goody,” he says, a sharp rasp in his throat. He makes eye contact with Goodrow across the room. The rookie swallows once (Joe tracks the hollow of his throat with what may or may not be undisguised lust) and nods, setting his shoulders back. 

“Hey Joe,” Goodrow says, coming closer. He’s half-dressed and his skin glows with sweat in the lights of the dressing room. Joe’s still a few steps from fully sensible and he wants. 

“You know how this works, eh, rook?” Joe rumbles, because his stomach is jumbled and his blood is hissing. It feels like he needs to bleed some adrenaline off before it overwhelms him. “You ready?” 

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Goodrow says, suppressing the quiver in his voice. He looks over to the rest of the dressing room. “What do you think, boys?” 

“Far as I’m concerned, Joe should be rewarded after every game,” Pavs says with a shrug. 

“Doughty’s gonna look like the fucking shithead he really is now,” Burns adds, “I think our best ex-captain should be lauded for that.” 

It’s almost laughable, thinking about how the other man’s going to look when he wakes up tomorrow. 

Goodrow fights with Joe’s pants with a nervous kind of excitement. Joe likes it, the eagerness. He makes a note to let McLellan know the kid deserves harder minutes. That sweet face is between Joe’s legs and Joe’s just thinking about how good it’s going to feel in a zone like this, where the world looks more blurry and feels so much sharper. 

Goodrow’s tongue teases the head of his cock and it’s sweet and warm. He’s big - there’s no way that kid can get him into that sweet mouth on the first try. But that’s fine. This is good. There will be time. 

“Goody’s been practicing,” Couture notes, and Goodrow flips him off without even looking. 

“Shut up, Cooch,” Joe says, and he melts against the locker room wall, the tension leaving him in a long sigh. Goodrow’s short hair feels wonderful against his fingers. He watches the rookie lick at him and draw those sweet lips up and down his shaft. 

“God, that looks good,” Vlasic says, watching from his cubby with rapt attention. 

In one catastrophically sad moment, Goodrow’s lips separate from his flesh. 

“I want to, but I don’t know if I can....” He starts, and Joe grins at him, easy and warm. 

“Why don’t you just do that. And why don’t ---” His eyes scan the dressing room. “-Shep. Why don’t you help?” 

“My pleasure, boss,” Sheppard replies without hesitation, crawling on his hands and knees over to find some space between his leg and Goodrow’s body. Joe catches Sheppard’s wink at Goodrow before he closes his eyes again and strokes Sheppard’s dark hair. 

Now it’s two of them, two sweet tongues, two warm mouths, two gentle puffs of breath, two pairs of soft lips, four wandering hands. When he does manage to open his eyes to look down, it’s almost too wonderful to watch.  
“Goody,” he starts, but it’s hard to speak in this state of mind, on this level of difficulty, with Shep licking his balls and Goodrow’s mouth sliding on and off the head of his cock. Instead he just reaches blindly until he finds what he wants - Goodrow’s hand, to wrap around the rest of his cock. There, there’s better, friction and heat on top of it, all those eager mouths and hands and Joe can’t bite back the moan. 

“Jesus christ,” says Niemi, from somewhere. 

Joe doesn’t want this to end, all this warmth and tongues and the blur of the win. He doesn’t want to have to go the next game, to play all over again. He just wants to have Sheppard and Goodrow and the rest of the team, and his victory in his pocket, and the team’s victory in the standings. 

But the headache is lingering at the end of his consciousness, waiting, and there’s a chill growing in the locker room, and there’s reality. He groans at one particularly lascivious tongue and sits up a little straighter. 

“Time to shine, Shep,” he says, and Sheppard grins up at him. 

“Practice, Goody,” he says, and he gently moves Goodrow out of the way to suck at the head of Joe’s cock.

“You’ve always been really good at this,” Joe mumbles. Sheppard offers an appreciative thumbs up, then swallows as he works Joe’s cock into his mouth. It’s always so damn good, no matter who it is. Watching Shppard’s mouth slide around him, widening, lips stretching - and there’s the heat of it, and the tightness, and Joe’s toes clench from the feeling. 

“Yeah, Shep, fuck,” he manages, breath coming short. “Watch and learn, Goody. There’s a test at the end.” 

Sheppard swallows around him and he gives into it, coming with a gasp, shuddering and digging his fingers into the bench. Sheppard’s mouth is gentle with him, licking him clean, sending smells shivers through him. 

He pats Sheppard’s head thoughtfully and grins down at Goodrow. The kid’s gonna fit in. 

He looks around at all the other staring eyes, the warm glow of his orgasm sliding through his body. 

After a while, he finally manages to stand. Time for advil, the dentist, and the next game.


End file.
